Amortentia
by Tari Seregon
Summary: It’s safe to say that every girl at one point in her life has wished for a love potion that would work. Well, Hermione Granger is a witch, so for her, it’s entirely possible. Post HBP, Spoilers present! Rated just for safety purposes :P


**Disclaimer:** Haha I just edited this because someone pointed out a mistake that I missed - thanks to Deandra. Anyway the characters and setting aren't mine, blah blah blah, but the plot is, so you steal it, you die.

That said, enjoy :-D. _**

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The Love Potion**_

It's safe to say that every girl at one point in her life has wished for a love potion that would work. Well, Hermione Granger is a witch, so for her, it's entirely possible.

* * *

**Every girl at one point in her life **has thought to herself, "I wish I could make a love potion to make him fall in love with me." Every girls has looked at the boy of her dreams, sighed, and wished he would hold her in his arms and stroke her hair and whisper words of affection into her ear. Every girl has been jealous of another girl who hugged the boy she loved, who touched him, who caught his eye because _she _wanted to be the one to do the same things. _She_ was more deserving than any of them because _she_ would be the only one to give him all the love he deserved. Every girl has wished to make a love potion. 

Well, for Hermione Granger, that was entirely possible.

See, there was a boy. He was tall with big feet and a nose to match, but his clumsiness made him look more quirky and cute than silly and idiotic. His flaming red hair had changed styles over the years she had known him – first it was a cut fit for a younger boy, then it was messier, then it was longer and fell into his eyes, which were a devastatingly handsome shade of blue. He wasn't the brightest bulb on the tree, and he wasn't the best Quidditch player on the field, but he was sweet and brave (more than he thought), and although he fought with her constantly over stupid things, sometimes he made her feel better than she ever thought possible.

The trouble was, Ronald Weasley was her best friend.

She didn't know what drove her to these desperate measures. Maybe it was how she always wanted to be with him, and she didn't really know why, but whenever they were together, her heart would sort of stop beating for a second, and when it would resume, it would be this fast-paced thing that she was sure he could hear. But she dared not ask if he heard it, too – it would ruin the moment for the both of them.

Whatever it was, Hermione was sick of waiting around for him to come to her. It was traditional that the boy was supposed to be the one to take action, but it was also traditional for wizards and witches to force the house elves to work for them. Hermione wasn't exactly the traditional girl.

"Where are you going?" Ron asked as she hurriedly walked past him in at the top of the stairs.

"Ron!" she cried, throwing up her arms, as thought she hadn't noticed him at all. "How _are_ you? How has your day been? Good? Well, I'm glad to hear it. Speaking of hearing things, I think I heard Harry calling for you a while ago," she said, putting her hand on his shoulder and leading him clear in the opposite direction.

"I . . . I didn't hear anything . . ." Ron stuttered.

"That's because you weren't paying any attention," Hermione said, "now come on, we don't want to keep Harry waiting, now do we?"

With a shove, Hermione left him in one of the deserted rooms at number 12, Grimmauld Place and disappeared into the darkness of another part of the hallway, gasping for breath. She felt bad leaving him there – he had looked so completely dumbfounded and confused, but she had to do something. There was no way he could know what she was up to.

Finally, Hermione got to the library of the mansion and found the book she needed. She couldn't believe she was using one of the books at Grimmauld Place to make a potion. For all she knew, she could be taking instructions from another Half-Blood Prince, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Flipping through the pages, she finally scanned the table of contents for the name _Amortentia._ Sure enough, there it was, page three hundred seventy-two. Turning anxiously to the page, her eyes drank in the words that sat in the tiniest of prints on the page. Her heart lightened when she realized that she had almost all of the ingredients to make the potion. A few of them could be acquired by a simple rummaging through the rooms in the house, and others would be a lot harder to get. But Hermione was determined to make this potion. She was sick of waiting.

- - -

Hermione bent over her cauldron, her bushy brown locks tied back in a low ponytail at the nape of her neck to keep it from falling into the potion. The mother-of-pearl sheen was a dead giveaway. It was working. She breathed in deeply. Everything she loved could be smelled in that potion. She remembered the year previous back at Hogwarts when Professor Slughorn had put the potion in his classroom and asked everyone what it was. Hermione had, as usual, shot her hand into the air and been called on, proclaiming that it was Amortentia, the strongest love potion in the world, and that she could tell what it was because of its distinct shine and the smells it gave off – fresh cut grass, new parchment. She cut herself off before she could say what the other smell was.

In truth, it had been Ron's smell that she didn't mention.

Carefully, she stuck her spoon into the cauldron and stirred slowly – three times to the right, then four left, then half way around to the right again. She couldn't stop smelling it, it smelled so good. When she was finally done mixing the ingredients, she added a special potion that had no affect on how the potion would work but would neutralize the smell. Pouring it into a small glass vial, she corked the vial, extinguished the fire that she had kept burning in her room all day, and put away the ingredients. She was finally ready.

- - -

"Hermione, you've been locked in your bedroom all day, what's going on?" Ron asked as she came down the stairs for dinner.

"Just reading up on some potions and things . . . this place has a lot of interesting books," she said absently. Her fist clenched around the vial in her sweater pocket.

"Yeah, interesting, if you're planning on becoming a Death Eater," Harry said rather coldly. Hermione shot him a look. Everyone knew that since Dumbledore's death and his break-up with Ginny, he hadn't been the same. There was always a tension in the room when one of them would walk in, especially if the other was with them. No one knew how to handle Harry. He was being reclusive and quiet and dark, and no one was sure whether they should comfort him or leave him alone.

"Harry, you know that's not what I was doing," Hermione said placidly.

"I know," he mumbled. "I'm sorry."

There was a silence for a moment or two, broken only by Ron saying, "Uh, Mum left something in the oven . . . it's probably our dinner, I dunno where she went . . ."

"I'll get it," Hermione said, anxious to leave the room. She went to the cupboard and magically took out four plates (one for each of them and one for Ginny in case she decided to show up), four cups, and silverware. It was all sort of dusty, so she also magically cleaned it all.

"What do you guys want to drink?" she called to them.

"I'll just have some water, I guess," came Harry's glum reply.

Pouring the drink into the glass, Hermione asked, "And you, Ron?"

"I'll get it myself, Hermione," Ron said, standing up, but Hermione jumped and cried, "No, no, it's fine, I'll do it."

"Alright, I guess I'll just have a Butterbeer," he said, sitting back down.

Hermione poured the Butterbeer into a goblet and checked to make sure neither of them were watching, then quickly added the Amortentia. She felt extremely guilty putting the potion in Ron's drink, but she was sick of waiting. She was sick of having to pretend.

Careful not to spill any of the Butterbeer as she brought the two drinks over, she placed them in front of Ron and Harry. She tried to smile, but was too nervous for it to come out right. She must have looked funny because Ron looked at her quizzically.

"What's wrong?" he asked, concern edging into his voice.

"Me? Nothing's wrong, I'm fine," she said hurriedly.

"Ron's right, Hermione, you've been acting kind of . . . odd . . . all day."

"How would you know? You've been locked up in your bedroom all day after all," she snapped. At the hurt look on Harry's face, however, she recoiled immediately. "I'm sorry Harry, that was uncalled for. I guess I'm just a little depressed," Hermione covered.

"So are the rest of us," Ron said callously.

"I know, I know, I'm really sorry," she apologized. "I don't really know why I'm getting so caught up in all of this when you guys seem to be holding up fine."

"Are you kidding me? I'm not exactly holding up fine," Harry muttered.

"Oh, Harry . . ." Hermione said, sitting down in the chair beside him. "I know this probably isn't going to help you much, but I just wanted to tell you that you're one of the strongest people I've ever met. This is hitting you the hardest, and you're holding up better than anyone could have ever dreamed."

Harry forced a smile and whispered, "Thanks, Hermione," and pulled her into a hug

Hermione stole a glance over at Ron. He was frowning slightly. She hadn't intended to make him jealous, but it seemed to have had that effect. She looked quickly at the goblet of Butterbeer, which seemed to still be pretty high.

"I'll go get the dinner, I guess," Hermione said, pulling away from her friend, who now seemed at least a bit more cheerful. She levitated the plates, now full of food, to the table. Then she departed, trying as hard as she could to go unnoticed.

"Where are you going?" Ron asked, stopping her in her tracks.

"Oh, I'm not really all that hungry," she said honestly. At that moment, her nerves were too tightly bundled to make her hungry.

Without another word, she managed to escape to her room.

- - -

Hermione sat down on her bed. She had been up and pacing for about an hour while Harry and Ron were downstairs eating. Ginny had been wandering all day. Whenever anyone entered a room that she was in, she'd make some excuse to leave. They were all becoming like that in their own way – everyone was reclusive. Hermione resorted to brewing potions in her bedroom; Harry locked himself up and did nothing all day; Ginny went wherever no one else was; and Ron was just alone by default. Hermione could tell that he was lonely, because every time he saw her, his eyes would light up, and he would make a lame attempt to talk to her, but she would turn him away.

She didn't know why she kept turning him away. After all, wasn't her intention to make him love her? But it wasn't love that was in his eyes. She didn't know what it was, but it was definitely not love. And the only way to put love in his eyes was with that potion.

But was this really what Hermione wanted? She had always dreamt of him holding her tight, of him kissing her softly, of him telling her that everything was alright when she awoke in the middle of the night, petrified by fitful dreams. But in these visions of what she wanted, he had always spoken of everything he loved her for. With this potion, he wasn't really loving her for her. In fact, he wouldn't really be loving her at all.

Hermione recalled the same potions class with Professor Slughorn. He had told them that the potion could not generate true love, nothing could. Magic could do many a thing, but creating love was not one of them. All the potion would create was an obsession.

She had dreamed of love, not an obsession. Suddenly, Hermione wasn't so sure that this potion was such a good idea.

But it was too late – an hour had past, and she had heard only one set of footsteps coming up the stairs, whose she had confirmed were Harry's by peaking through the keyhole. It was almost definite that the Butterbeer was already gone.

But there was still a small chance.

Silently, Hermione crept down the stairs to the kitchen. There she found two plates – one with most of its contents still left upon it, the other completely empty – and two goblets, both of which were empty.

Her heart sank. Hermione sat down in the chair and buried her face in her hands.

"Hermione?" a voice called.

Hermione wiped her eyes and looked to where the voice had come from. Ron stood in the doorway.

"Hello, Ron," she mumbled.

"What's the matter?" Ron asked, sitting down in the chair beside her.

"Everything," she said shortly.

"Oh, 'Mione, tell me everything, I'm here for you," Ron said, surrounding her in his arms.

Hermione wanted nothing more than to sit there like that with him forever, but it was also killing her inside. "I can't tell you, Ron, I just can't."

Ron sighed and said, "Well, there are some things I need to tell you. I don't really know what happened to me this year, Hermione. I was just sick of waiting for you. And then Lavender came along, and she was all over me, and it felt kind of good to have someone who I knew wanted to be with me, but at the same time I was dying to not be with you."

"Ron, stop making things up, I know you drank the Butterbeer," Hermione said curtly.

"What does this have to do with Butterbeer?" Ron asked, a quizzical expression crossing his face.

"The Butterbeer I gave you! It had Amortentia in it, Ron!"

"It had what in it?"

"Amortentia! It's the most powerful love potion in the world!"

"Why would you put a love potion in my drink?" he asked, completely astonished.

"Because I love you, Ron! I'm sick of waiting, too!" Hermione shouted. She didn't care if everyone in the whole house heard her – Fleur attending to Bill upstairs, Harry locked in his bedroom, Ginny wandering wherever she was, Molly busy doing some sort of housework – all that mattered was getting it out.

"I'm sick of being the one who watches from afar, the one who always gets hurt! I'm sick of being the afterthought! I'm sick of wishing for something instead of actually getting what I really want!"

"You . . . you love me?" Ron asked quietly.

"Yes, Ron, I do. I love you," Hermione said, at a complete loss for words.

Ron grinned. "I love you, too, Hermione," he said.

"Shut up, Ron, I know you drank that stupid Butterbeer. You don't mean a word you're saying."

Ron's smile brightened even more. "But that's where you're wrong, Hermione. I didn't drink the Butterbeer."

Hermione raised her gaze so that the two of them were eye to eye. "You didn't?"

He shook his head. "It had a funny color, kind of mother-of-pearl sheen to it, so I didn't drink it. I poured it down the sink."

"So, you really_ do_ love me, then?"

Ron nodded silently. "All of last year, the only reason I was with Lavender was to make you jealous."

"That's so shallow," Hermione murmured, but she couldn't help but smile.

"Well, so is making a love potion to make someone fall in love with you," Ron pointed out.

"Does it count if I was upstairs all night wishing I'd never made it?" Hermione asked.

"That makes it the slightest bit better, but I'm not sure if I can forgive you."

"Well then, what will make you forgive me?" She felt Ron's arms slipping around her waist.

"If you give me a kiss," Ron said. His forehead was right up against hers now.

Hermione giggled quietly, then whispered, "I think I can do that."

And next to an empty goblet that was once filled with Butterbeer and Amortentia, Ron kissed Hermione for the very first time.

Every girl, at one point in her life, inevitably wishes that she could make a love potion. For Hermione Granger, it was entirely possible.

But she didn't need one.


End file.
